Toxic Chapter 4: Lust
It was only a matter of minutes before Anakin emerged into the controlled evening environment of Coruscant's mid orbit. The recycled, pumped, regulated air felt heavy and thick in Anakin's throat, and that meant one thing: rain was on the way. That thought didn't stop the young man as he stalked through the streets. He loved rain; it was pure and refreshing, it washed things away. And it was so different to sand.
Anyone that passed him religiously refused to meet his eyes, but considered the rapidly darkening area on his cheek when they thought he wasn't paying attention. Anakin was used to being stared at. He knew he was reasonably good looking, as was his Master. On their own they elicited the odd curious, appreciative glance, but whenever they appeared in public as a pair, all pretence of politeness was forgotten by the people of Coruscant, and they just stared.
One good-looking man was interesting. A single Jedi was fascinating. Two good-looking men were unusual. Two handsome Jedi? That was . . . well, that was an Event. But today, it was not his looks that received the glances thrown by the various species that made up Coruscant's civilian life. It was his whole demeanor; the anger, the hatred, the pulsing, twisted power that the young man exuded. It was that that prompted the public to remain a safe distance from him.
Anakin strode the path his mind remembered very well, although had not traveled it often. It lead him down, down lower and lower into the highly disrespectful and Un-Jedi like lower levels of Coruscant; to the places of illegal drinks and illegal dancing in illegal atmospheres that everyone knew of but everyone chose to ignore, but yet it was the perfect destination for Anakin. He wanted to dull his pain and rejection, and heighten his anger and purpose with the grateful arms of a very pleasant if not entirely correct drink.
The dull orange glow from the door of Anakin's chosen bar pulsed with an inviting warmth, and the ground beneath him bounced gently in response to the deep beet of the music inside. A wry smile flittered across his lips as he swaggered in.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke, and it swirled overhead in an all-encompassing noxious cloud. It stung his eyes slightly, but it was welcome, it meant that he was still alive. He almost flew down a flight of stone steps to get to the bar and dancefloor. Every face that passed had a story; a reason for being here, but Anakin didn't care. They were his brethren; tonight, they were his family. He loved them, they loved him, it was strange and beautiful in its twisted innocence.
The moment he stepped onto the floor he abandoned every Jedi moral and teaching, and just let the beat carry all his cares and worries away. All need for revenge paused and gathered its strength, waiting.
Most of the denizens of the club were drawn to the young man as he danced, and he allowed their momentary love to wash over him as he danced with them. He kissed many, but they blurred into obscurity as the number rose. Male, female, human, alien. He lost all knowledge as the evening wore on. It was out of this haze he surfaced several hours later, in the corner of the club, with a girl viciously kissing him, her long brunette hair cascading down across her angular face and brushing his exposed skin, just like Padme's did in that blissful week after their wedding . . .
Everything became sharper. ~Married, you're married, fool, and here you are risking it all with some cheep whore in a sleazy underground nightclub~ the voice in his mind tutted. ~What would Master Obi-Wan think?~ With renewed strength, he threw the girl off him. She lay, sprawled across the floor, smiling up at him lazily, her ruby eyes glinting mischievously.
"Ooh, Baby likes it rough, does he?" she purred, leaning over to plant herself firmly on Anakin's lap again. He narrowed his eyes at her.
"Go find someone else to suck the life out of, bitch," he hissed carefully at her. She sighed and spun on her heel to do just like that. Anakin let out all the breath he didn't realise he was holding in a whoosh and leaned up against the red leather seat backing. "Padme . . ." he murmured gently, closing his eyes and letting all his senses feel her synthesized presence. The smell of her hair, the sight of her smile, the feel of her curves, the sound of her laugh, the taste of her skin . . .
He snapped open his eyes and searched for a drink. On the table in front of him stood an assortment of different coloured liquors, and he downed them all with a need borne of desperation. The welcome haze returned and caressed his abused mind, numbing his smarting cheek and his soul. He sighed blissfully and sinked back down into the comfort of the chair with his eyes closed.
Hurrum Shoom
That breathing. It was back, in his mind, slicing and numbing at the same time, hating pasts and promising futures. He slowed his breathing and opened his eyes . . . to find himself face to face with a red-faced, badly dressed pilot who carried more than a few extra pounds on his large frame. The spicy, sickening smell of second-hand alcohol assaulted his nose and he grimaced away from the man's breath. The man threw himself down by Anakin with a laugh.
"S'the Jedi Brat!" he slurred, throwing an arm around Anakin's shoulders that was quickly discarded. "Washa you duin eeeeere?" He leaned in close to the Padawan, who scooted away.
"Being me," Anakin replied, his voice clear despite the mist around his mind. The Pilot's hearty laugh seemed to be part of the club's noise.
"Oooo really? Sho where's tha Mashta o' yours, then?" He demanded, his eyes gleaming deep in the expanse of ruddy face. "I di sum piloting fo' im once. Broke down. He wash te only one shmall 'nuff to fit in th' engine bit. Sho he ben' ova and star-ed wavin is butt around. Coooor." The man rubbed his thighs appreciatively. Anakin listened with half an ear as the man got worked up about Obi-Wan, half a sneer on his face. The man continued obliviously. "Nicest bit 'o ass I ever watched. Cor, I'd love ta . . ." He trailed off and began to make body movements to show exactly what he'd like to do to Obi-Wan's ass. Sickened and annoyed at having to listen to someone else talking about his Master like that, Anakin stood and walked over to the bar. There was a small chuckle in his head.
~Ex Master~ it reminded him. Yes, that was right. He no longer wanted Obi-Wan as his Master. He'd do all right on his own. He wouldn't give that bastard the satisfaction of leaving the Padawan; he'd renounce the Master first. ~After all, he's not even a very good Master. What did he ever teach you that you couldn't have learned by yourself?~ Yoda would pay, Palaani would pay, every single shit-for-brains kid in the temple that had laughed at him would pay. But most of all he was looking forward to making Obi-Wan Kenobi pay. With his blood, with his sanity, with everything he held dear.
~With his life~
Slamming down another drink at the bar he deposited a significant number of credits on the counter and stormed out the club, into the open air, with a renewed sense of purpose and hatred. As promised, the skies had opened and he was drenched to the bone within a matter of seconds, but he didn't care. He just didn't care.
Reaching the deserted upper levels of Coruscant, he tipped up his head to the sky, letting the rain wash over his face, a malicious smile cracking his smooth features. He threw his hands behind his back and let out a primeval roar into the sky, revealing emotion and animal instincts. The shattering howl descended into laughter quickly, but it was not laughter of happiness, of joy. It was hateful, spiteful, evil.
The malicious laugh of the corruption of the Dark Side.
It was only a matter of minutes before Anakin emerged into the controlled evening environment of Coruscant's mid orbit. The recycled, pumped, regulated air felt heavy and thick in Anakin's throat, and that meant one thing: rain was on the way. That thought didn't stop the young man as he stalked through the streets. He loved rain; it was pure and refreshing, it washed things away. And it was so different to sand.
Anyone that passed him religiously refused to meet his eyes, but considered the rapidly darkening area on his cheek when they thought he wasn't paying attention. Anakin was used to being stared at. He knew he was reasonably good looking, as was his Master. On their own they elicited the odd curious, appreciative glance, but whenever they appeared in public as a pair, all pretence of politeness was forgotten by the people of Coruscant, and they just stared.
One good-looking man was interesting. A single Jedi was fascinating. Two good-looking men were unusual. Two handsome Jedi? That was . . . well, that was an Event. But today, it was not his looks that received the glances thrown by the various species that made up Coruscant's civilian life. It was his whole demeanor; the anger, the hatred, the pulsing, twisted power that the young man exuded. It was that that prompted the public to remain a safe distance from him.
Anakin strode the path his mind remembered very well, although had not traveled it often. It lead him down, down lower and lower into the highly disrespectful and Un-Jedi like lower levels of Coruscant; to the places of illegal drinks and illegal dancing in illegal atmospheres that everyone knew of but everyone chose to ignore, but yet it was the perfect destination for Anakin. He wanted to dull his pain and rejection, and heighten his anger and purpose with the grateful arms of a very pleasant if not entirely correct drink.
The dull orange glow from the door of Anakin's chosen bar pulsed with an inviting warmth, and the ground beneath him bounced gently in response to the deep beet of the music inside. A wry smile flittered across his lips as he swaggered in.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke, and it swirled overhead in an all-encompassing noxious cloud. It stung his eyes slightly, but it was welcome, it meant that he was still alive. He almost flew down a flight of stone steps to get to the bar and dancefloor. Every face that passed had a story; a reason for being here, but Anakin didn't care. They were his brethren; tonight, they were his family. He loved them, they loved him, it was strange and beautiful in its twisted innocence.
The moment he stepped onto the floor he abandoned every Jedi moral and teaching, and just let the beat carry all his cares and worries away. All need for revenge paused and gathered its strength, waiting.
Most of the denizens of the club were drawn to the young man as he danced, and he allowed their momentary love to wash over him as he danced with them. He kissed many, but they blurred into obscurity as the number rose. Male, female, human, alien. He lost all knowledge as the evening wore on. It was out of this haze he surfaced several hours later, in the corner of the club, with a girl viciously kissing him, her long brunette hair cascading down across her angular face and brushing his exposed skin, just like Padme's did in that blissful week after their wedding . . .
Everything became sharper. ~Married, you're married, fool, and here you are risking it all with some cheep whore in a sleazy underground nightclub~ the voice in his mind tutted. ~What would Master Obi-Wan think?~ With renewed strength, he threw the girl off him. She lay, sprawled across the floor, smiling up at him lazily, her ruby eyes glinting mischievously.
"Ooh, Baby likes it rough, does he?" she purred, leaning over to plant herself firmly on Anakin's lap again. He narrowed his eyes at her.
"Go find someone else to suck the life out of, bitch," he hissed carefully at her. She sighed and spun on her heel to do just like that. Anakin let out all the breath he didn't realise he was holding in a whoosh and leaned up against the red leather seat backing. "Padme . . ." he murmured gently, closing his eyes and letting all his senses feel her synthesized presence. The smell of her hair, the sight of her smile, the feel of her curves, the sound of her laugh, the taste of her skin . . .
He snapped open his eyes and searched for a drink. On the table in front of him stood an assortment of different coloured liquors, and he downed them all with a need borne of desperation. The welcome haze returned and caressed his abused mind, numbing his smarting cheek and his soul. He sighed blissfully and sinked back down into the comfort of the chair with his eyes closed.
Hurrum Shoom
That breathing. It was back, in his mind, slicing and numbing at the same time, hating pasts and promising futures. He slowed his breathing and opened his eyes . . . to find himself face to face with a red-faced, badly dressed pilot who carried more than a few extra pounds on his large frame. The spicy, sickening smell of second-hand alcohol assaulted his nose and he grimaced away from the man's breath. The man threw himself down by Anakin with a laugh.
"S'the Jedi Brat!" he slurred, throwing an arm around Anakin's shoulders that was quickly discarded. "Washa you duin eeeeere?" He leaned in close to the Padawan, who scooted away.
"Being me," Anakin replied, his voice clear despite the mist around his mind. The Pilot's hearty laugh seemed to be part of the club's noise.
"Oooo really? Sho where's tha Mashta o' yours, then?" He demanded, his eyes gleaming deep in the expanse of ruddy face. "I di sum piloting fo' im once. Broke down. He wash te only one shmall 'nuff to fit in th' engine bit. Sho he ben' ova and star-ed wavin is butt around. Coooor." The man rubbed his thighs appreciatively. Anakin listened with half an ear as the man got worked up about Obi-Wan, half a sneer on his face. The man continued obliviously. "Nicest bit 'o ass I ever watched. Cor, I'd love ta . . ." He trailed off and began to make body movements to show exactly what he'd like to do to Obi-Wan's ass. Sickened and annoyed at having to listen to someone else talking about his Master like that, Anakin stood and walked over to the bar. There was a small chuckle in his head.
~Ex Master~ it reminded him. Yes, that was right. He no longer wanted Obi-Wan as his Master. He'd do all right on his own. He wouldn't give that bastard the satisfaction of leaving the Padawan; he'd renounce the Master first. ~After all, he's not even a very good Master. What did he ever teach you that you couldn't have learned by yourself?~ Yoda would pay, Palaani would pay, every single shit-for-brains kid in the temple that had laughed at him would pay. But most of all he was looking forward to making Obi-Wan Kenobi pay. With his blood, with his sanity, with everything he held dear.
~With his life~
Slamming down another drink at the bar he deposited a significant number of credits on the counter and stormed out the club, into the open air, with a renewed sense of purpose and hatred. As promised, the skies had opened and he was drenched to the bone within a matter of seconds, but he didn't care. He just didn't care.
Reaching the deserted upper levels of Coruscant, he tipped up his head to the sky, letting the rain wash over his face, a malicious smile cracking his smooth features. He threw his hands behind his back and let out a primeval roar into the sky, revealing emotion and animal instincts. The shattering howl descended into laughter quickly, but it was not laughter of happiness, of joy. It was hateful, spiteful, evil.
The malicious laugh of the corruption of the Dark Side.